That Weird Feeling
by Fiyeraaron
Summary: She has always known how to read people. But when Les Amis start acting strange, she has no idea how to react.


She's always been good at figuring people out. She'd been trained from birth about how to be stealthy and work out how to get under a person's skin- it's one of the few things she's thankful of about her upbringing to this day. She can tell whenever Grantaire's on his fourth bottle of the day just by the way his voice rasps, or if Combeferre is in a good mood due to the gentle movements of his hands. She never even spoke to them much, she just watched them and observed. That's the best way to learn the secrets of a person- act oblivious. So, yeah, she thinks it's safe to say that she's more than an expert at these sort of things.

It's been a week since the barricades were built, and she hadn't seen Les Amis since the National Guard declared defeat. It was all a bit of a haze as Marius hugged her and Gavroche was lifted up on Courfeyrac's shoulders, cheering loudly. To be honest, she was still a bit weary from her near death experience. She remembers somebody aiming a gun at Marius, her going to intercept it at the last second and the shot never hitting her body. She doesn't know what happened, but she thanks her stars for her survival.

It's not that she's avoiding them, she'd love to see them all again. She's just afraid of what might happen when they see _her_ again. She knows Marius has the blonde girl now, so that's a lost cause. Hell, they probably don't even remember her. She only showed up to a couple of their meeting and rallies, she never really spoke to anyone on the barricade. Still, there's that little sliver of hope that maybe they remember who she is. Plus, she really needs to make sure Marius is okay.

That's how she ends up outside Café Musain, her hand squeezing the door handle. She could go in and embarrass herself, or she could walk away and forget all about the idiotic revolutionaries and their ideas. She figures they'll all still be celebrating their success, they might not even notice her. But, then again, she was on that barricade, she helped them win.

Taking a deep breath in, she yanks open the door and strides up the stairs, not letting herself think, knowing she'd discourage herself even more if she did. She can hear talking from inside the door and slows down a little as she reaches the top of the stairs.

"Come on, Enjolras, I thought you were supposed to be the brave revolutionary. You fear nothing, let alone a small gamine." She supposes that Grantaire is on his fifth bottle by now.

"Enjolras, we saw you looking at her. I don't think anybody missed that look of pure fear and desperation as you killed that guard."

"I approve. I mean, I've never had a real conversation with her, but anybody who can make the great Apollo weak at the knees has my blessing."

She thinks this may be wrong, listening in on their conversation, but it's their own fault. Really, they shouldn't be talking so loudly. Plus, it's fun to guess what they're talking about.

"Can we please stop having this conversation? You've done nothing but big me about this since the barricades finished. We've not seen her, how do you expect me to do anything when she's not here?"

"It's not only that, it's the fact that you won't even admit it."

"Maybe I won't admit it because it's not tr-"

"Don't even try, Enjolras. Don't even try."

"You know what? Okay. Maybe I do like her, just the smallest bit." She hears a high squeal that she guesses was courtesy of Jehan. "But my feelings are irrelevant. She's not here, she's probably left Paris. Maybe it's best if I just forget about her."

She chooses now to walk in, feeling she knows enough about what she's missed over the part week. She pushes the door open with a loud creak and stop short at what she sees.

Everybody is crowding around a large circular table. She sees a mop of blond, curly hair sat down, his head laid on the hard wooden tabletop. As soon as she stops walking, everybody turns to gape at her. The looks she receives are of the strangest combination. Ranging from mischievous and sly (Courfeyrac and Bahorel), to excited and gleeful (Jehan and Joly), to aghast and horrified (Bossuet and Feuilly). She looks around awkwardly, nervous under their gaze.

"Well, well, well. The Gods have spoken. Seems fate has taken charge." Grantaire grins maliciously at her, taking a swig of the bottle that seems to be permanently in his grasp.

"...what?" Her voice is a lot smaller than she expected it to be, and her face is a lot warmer than it was when she was stood outside the door.

"Come, come! Take a seat, mademoiselle." She watches as Grantaire pulls out the seat and Les Amis part like the Red Sea, all looking anxiously and excitedly at her, watching her every move.

She takes the seat slowly, because she'd really like to know why the hell they're all staring at her so weirdly. She looks around at the faces staring down at her. The head that was laying on the table has risen, revealing Enjolras. He's looking at her with wonderment and a small smile is laying on his lips and it's creeping her out just the smallest bit. Jehan was looking animatedly between her and Enjolras, as was Joly. Everybody else was grinning at her. She wanted answers, goddamnit. She's settles her gaze on Combeferre, who currently seems to be the calmest of the pack.

"Well? Are you all going to tell me what the hell is your problem?"

Combeferre gapes for a second, before stuttering out a response. "Nothing is the problem, honestly! Well, it's not you. Well, it's kind of you. It's not your fault. Actually, it kind of is. But, really-"

"Enjolras!" Jehan exclaims, loudly. Her gaze slips to said man and watches as his normally composed exterior slips into a crimson colour, one similar to his beloved jacket.

"Is everything okay?" She goes to stand up. "I can leave..."

"No!" The collective sound admittedly scares her and she resolutely sits back down.

"Look, if you don't tell me what's going on, I'm just gonna walk out."

Grantaire speaks first. "Enjolras, didn't you have something to say to Éponine?"

"What? No, no, I don't think so." Enjolras seems to be avoiding her gaze, no matter how much she follows his eyes.

"Yes! I distinctly remember you saying you had something of the utmost importance to say to Éponine. Now is a prime moment, is it not?" Joly continues, seemingly undeterred by the glares the blond is sending his way.

"Well, Monsieur?" Éponine asks politely. If he wants to tell her something, she'd rather know it now than have to find out from somebody else. Maybe he's going to tell her off for showing up at the barricade.

"It's nothing." He's glaring at the table now.

"Fine. I'm going to get a drink. Grantaire, care to join me?" She stands up and walks to the bar.

"Marry her. Marry her now." She hears Grantaire say before he's stumbling over to her and ordering another round of drinks. She doesn't pay it much mind, he's drunk and she's confused, their weird ramblings are obviously temperamental.

/

I decided to start a new story. I'm ill and I just watched Les Mis again. It's time.

Disclaimer: Look, if I own Les Mis, you'll hear about it, okay?


End file.
